To Touch a Goddess
by Crazy Retasu
Summary: Based on Populous: The Beginning. The Shaman is worshipped like a goddess by her tribe, but she is still just a woman inside. Can she reconcile her humanity with her divine powers----and will any man ever dare to love her?


**Revised 11/01.**

**Note: In "Populous: The Beginning" the Shaman seems to be the only female of the tribe, but I think that there must be some females; everyone is just dressed in generic "tribal wear" so you can't tell. I've also decided that the Priests are actually Priestesses, because the female Shaman has the highest status, so logically only women would be able to hold the high rank of the Priest.**

Sex is important in this story, but I am not a lemon writer, so there is NOTHING GRAPHIC in this fic. Just to let you know. ^_~ 

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To Touch a Goddess 

By Crazy Retasu

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I am the Shaman.  I am the Almighty Sorceress, the Eternal Leader, the Savior of the People, the Chosen One…

I am the One the Gods Love. 

Yet I am a woman whom no man can ever love. 

My people will not look at me, but throw themselves to the ground as I pass by, worshipping me with fear and awe, unable to raise their eyes.  None presume to speak to me, knowing the insignificance of their mortal voices.  The priestesses may chant and praise my name, yet they never address me.  I cannot speak to anyone, save in the silence of their minds, where I give commands and reinforce their loyalty. 

I am immortal only as long as my people believe in me.  To reveal my loneliness, my weakness, would be to destroy their faith in my perfection and divinity.

None of my people dare touch me; to do so would be blasphemy, a crime punishable by death. 

I am revered as a god on earth, but I am not a god---yet. I may wield godlike powers, but I am still a woman. Despite my many reincarnations, **that will never change. **

Neither will the ways of men and women, the forces that spin the wheel of life from birth to rebirth.  I have seen the way a fire lights the eyes of the braves and warriors, a fire that differs from the zeal of the priests or from the mystic light that glows within my own.  I am not blind to the unions that create new members of the tribe; I am the Shaman, the All-Seeing One. 

I am jealous of my people... 

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I have a plan.  I climb into a nearby balloon, handcrafted by the untiring braves.

*Join me,* I whisper gently into the mind of my favorite warrior. He has accompanied me on countless other balloon trips in this world, silently obeying my unspoken directions.  He hops into the balloon's basket with a simple grunt of acknowledgement and takes his seat at the pedals.  I focus on an island far on the other side of this planet and place the image of my destination into his open mind.  He nods, and we set off on our airborne journey. 

Standing behind him, I watch his muscles work as he throws himself completely into the pedals, driving the balloon forward despite the headwind.  He takes his job seriously; he knows I rely on him to return the balloon home to safety should I be killed in an enemy attack. 

He knows I have a weakness. 

We have reached our destination: a small, lonely island populated only by a few trees.  *Out,* I command him, jumping to the ground; he lands nimbly a few feet behind me and tethers the balloon to a stake in the dirt. I can feel his curiosity---there is no totem pole, no stone head to worship, not even a shamanic vault of knowledge.  There is nothing here but the trees, the dirt, the ocean---and me.  I walk to the center of the isle and raise my hands to the sky, asking the gods for their forgiveness of what I am about to do.

*Come.* My hands drop to my sides.

He obeys, then falls to his knees to worship, as is expected at such proximity to me. 

"NO!" 

I have spoken aloud, in the same tone I use when casting spells---it is the only voice I know.  I turn to face him.  He freezes, afraid for his life. I drop to one knee and reach down to lift his chin with my hand. 

The taboo is broken.  His skin feels warm against my fingers. 

He looks up at me---at my mask---wide eyes full of questions.  I ask him one of my own: "Would you **dare** touch the body of a goddess?" 

He does not reply; he does not **know how to answer.**

I remove my heavy mask, the sign of my station, my power. My eyes still swirl with the holy light, but for the first time, he sees a **woman's face, not the monstrous mask of the Shaman. **

I brush my fingers against his jawline and move close enough to feel his quick breath on my face.  I delve into his mind to calm the chaos raging there with a soft mental whisper.  Suddenly, I kiss him.  His lips are soft. 

We separate, and he stares at me, disbelief plain on his tanned features.  I take hold of his warm wrist and guide his hand up over my shoulder, pushing down one sleeve of my ceremonial tunic to bare a shoulder.  He looks at me, confused, and he trembles in my grip.  I reach for his other hand and lead him to the concealed buttons down the front of my garment.  I want him to realize what I want; I do not wish to **command him this time. **

Understanding gradually slides across his face.  Slowly he unfastens each button, then pauses; I shrug out of the clothing and ask softly, "Would you** touch the body of **this** goddess---this **woman**?"**

He answers me without words.

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I wake to find him lying next to me in the dirt, still naked---just as I am.  I stand up stiffly, feeling sore, and pick up his pants.  I toss them onto his naked form, then dust myself off before I put on my ceremonial robe. I find his sword, walk back to him, and place it beside him.  He stirs, but does not wake up.  

Poor mortal, I have drained most of his mana in order to recover quickly; no need to be unnecessarily weakened in this dangerous world. 

I already have enough weaknesses of my own. 

I bend down to press my lips against his damp forehead.  A warmth pulses through my veins, not unlike the heat of magic before a powerful spell.  I move down to kiss his lips one last time, trying to imprint the taste of him.

I pick up my discarded mask from the ground and put it back on.  The accustomed weight settles on my head and the feeling of power returns, displacing the glow of passion. I step back from him---my follower, my warrior, my lover.  I close my eyes to feel the prickling energy of my people's mana charge the air around me. 

I am a woman---but I will be a goddess. 

Touching a goddess is a crime punishable by death.

The holy lightning strikes down from heaven with only a single word of invitation: "**Sokah!**"

I watch until the beautiful colors of his spirit drift into nothingness, then return to the balloon alone.


End file.
